Harry Potters Anonymous
by LifeWriter
Summary: Oneshot, crack. An extradimensional meeting of supernatural beings is crashed by none other than Harry Potter.


Harry Potters Anonymous

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[oneshot][crack] An extradimensional meeting of supernatural beings is crashed by none other than Harry Potter.

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Warnings include, but are not limited to: Idiocy. Lunacy. The author's lack of creativity. Mentions of incest for parody purposes only. Mentions of slash for parody purposes only. Mentions of disco for parody purposes only.

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Dedicated to: Anyone who reviewed All the Dementors. This is your thank-you present. Please stop asking for a sequel, it's not going to happen.

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A/N: I've always wondered why fanfiction authors make Harry's childhood resemble something out of an episode of the Happy Tree Friends. There was abuse, yes, but none of it was physical. On the other hand, my Beta tells me that this is completely unoriginal and should not be loosed from its cage... In the words of a previous reviewer: "Don't expect great literature."

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Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me... Also, this was inspired by a skit by Monty Python. This oneshot probably owes more to Monty Python than it does to Harry Potter.

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The sign above the door read 'Harry Potters Anonymous' in large green glowing letters. The door itself was very large and very brown. The coatrack next to the door held all manner of personal effects, though the Harry Potter in the black fedora had adamantly refused to remove his leather jacket.

Inside the room, a rather odd discussion was taking place.

The Harry Potter who had just entered the room was already drunk. He slumped into the nearest chair and took a swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey clenched tightly in one hand. "'Lo," he slurred. "'M Harry Potter. Pleased t'meet'cha."

"Hello, Harry," the rest of the group chorused.

"Now that we're almost all here," said the Harry Potter wearing the Death Eater mask, "I'd like to draw out collective attention to a most vexing conundrum. It has come to my attention that most of you have decided to oppose the most esteemed and prestigious Dark Lord instead of prostrating yourselves at his feet as is proper–"

"Oh, shut up," said the girlish Potter wearing the makeup. "You bring this up every meeting. Give it a rest!"

"And what's with the flowery language?" another Potter complained. "Seriously, it sounds like you swallowed a dictionary or something."

"Considering he's banging the bookworm, that's probably not all he's been swallowing," said a Potter with a lewd grin.

"That's not nice," said a Potter wearing a neatly pressed shirt complete with pocket protector. His large, thick-rimmed glasses gave him a vaguely bug-eyed appearance, and he blinked often. "You shouldn't talk about Hermione like that."

"And what exactly do you plan on doing about it, shrimp?" threatened the Potter in question.

The nerdy-looking Potter shrank back into his chair and didn't speak.

"Hem hem."

About half of the Harry Potters jumped, several looking around wildly. "Crikey, mate! Don't do that!" shouted one particularly vocal Potter.

"Yes, well, we're getting off-topic," said the Potter who had interrupted. "In any case, I can assure you that none of us are planning to join the Death Eaters any time soon–"

A shifty-looking Potter raised his hand. "Ah, well, I might've changed my mind about that..."

The Potter wearing the Death Eater mask cheered loudly. "Welcome, brother! I am pleased to be informed that you have regained your sensibilities and have decided to claim your proper place in life!"

"Yes, well–" the Potter who had previously been in control of the conversation attempted to regain it.

"Damn, mate! How could you do that to us?" wailed a redheaded Potter.

"'E said 'e'd get me away from the Dursleys, 'e did," admitted the shifty-looking Potter.

"The Dursleys?" the nerdy-looking Potter asked, confused expression plastered over his face. "Why? What did they ever do to you?"

"They beat me," said the shifty-looking Potter. "And made me stay in the cupboard under the stairs whenever they had guests over."

"My uncle used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs for months at a time!" another Potter shouted in indignation. "But you don't see me complaining about it, do you?"

"The cupboard? That's nothing! He used to lock me in a closet!"

"A closet? What are you complaining about? You had it good! My uncle would shove me underneath a loose floorboard at night! And then he'd pull a rug over it so I couldn't get out!"

"At least you had that! My uncle would put me in a shoebox! Then he'd wrap it in fifty feet of chains, and lock it in the garden sheds."

There was a moment of silence as all present bowed their heads.

"Good old Vernon," the nerdy-looking Potter said with something approaching fondness in his voice.

"Good ole Verny," the drunk Potter agreed with a hiccup.

"He still beat me," said the shifty-looking Potter, now looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Ah, those were the days," agreed another Potter.

"I remember this one time, he hit me so hard I saw stars," the nerdy Potter said.

"You saw stars?" another Potter scoffed. "You got off easy. Once he hit me so hard I saw entire galaxies of stars."

"Pah!" said another Potter, the glass of Firewhiskey in his hand held at a precarious angle. "That's nothing! The old man used to hit me so hard I saw galaxies, daily."

"If he just hit you, you were lucky. My uncle used to whip me with his belt every day!"

"You mean he only used his belt? So what? My uncle used a whip!"

"A whip? Please. Vernon used to beat me over the head with a broken beer bottle every time I came home!"

"I only wish my uncle had used a beer bottle! He used to stab me repeatedly with a knife every night before he went to bed!"

"Oh really? That's nothing! My uncle used to beat me to death every night, and dance on my grave!"

Everyone looked admiringly at the Potter wearing the black fedora.

"And we mustn't forget our dear old Aunt Petunia," sighed one Potter, a disturbingly lovesick expression on his pasty face.

"Petunia," sighed another. "Dear, dear Petty."

"She tried to drown me in a bucket of cleaning solution once," the nerdy looking Potter said wistfully.

"Once? That's nothing! She tried to drown me repeatedly!"

"Tried to? You got off lucky! She drowned me so bad I actually died!" exclaimed the Potter in the Death Eater mask.

A pause.

"I got better."

"Do you remember how she used to wake us up at five in the morning to make us cook breakfast? I can still hear her sweet voice shrieking 'Freak! Get your lazy a–'"

"Language," interrupted the Potter in the black fedora.

"She woke you up at five?" one of the other Potters asked incredulously. "Lucky you! She used to wake me up at four!"

"She'd wake me up at three!"

"Three? You got off easy! My auntie used to wake me up at two!"

"She'd wake me up at one o'clock in the morning!"

"Well, at least you got to sleep! My Aunt Petunia woke me up every day at midnight– two hours before I went to sleep!"

"My Aunt Petunia would keep me up all night doing chores," admitted the shifty-looking Potter shamefacedly. "And then she'd make me make the breakfast in the morning."

"You only had to make the breakfast? She used to make me make breakfast, clean up all the dishes, and do all the laundry!"

"That's all? I had to mow the lawn and weed the garden too!"

"Ha! That's nothing. She used to make me cook breakfast, wash all of the dishes by hand, do all of the laundry, mow the lawn, weed the garden, sweep the floor, and vacuum the house– all at the same time!"

"Same here! And she'd hit me over the head with a frying pan while I was at it!"

"Wicked arm on that one," the nerdy-looking Potter said.

The lovesick Potter took off his glasses and wiped the fog off onto his shirt.

"She had the most adorable pet names for us, too," another Potter said. "Remember how she'd call us Freak? And Boy?"

"Worthless scum?"

"Lazy, no-good brat?"

"Son of a b–"

"Language," said the nerdy-looking Potter and the Potter in the black fedora at the same time.

"Sorry," the guilty Potter blushed.

"More Firewhiskey?"

"Please."

"Her names for us were always far better than the ones she gave Dudley," reminisced one Potter.

Another snorted. "Oh, yeah! You got that right."

"I mean, honestly. Dudders? Diddikins?"

"Diddy-dum?"

"Dum-dum?" Another Potter suggested, with the requisite unintelligent snigger.

"How is dearest Dudley, anyway?"

"Last I heard he had to repeat a year."

"Just one? My cousin had to repeat the same year, twice!"

"Ha! Yours was lucky. My Dudley never made it past elementary school."

"My Dudley," announced a Potter wearing bright purple robes, with obvious relish, "got a Hogwarts letter. He went to detention with Professor Snape and no-one ever saw him again."

"Ooh, scary," said a Potter with heavy white makeup and gruesome scars stretching from the corners of his mouth. "Gives me delightful shivers, it does."

"I remember all of our fond times in Occlumency lessons," said the lovesick Potter. "How Severus would point his wand at me and–"

"Used his wand a lot, then, did he?" asked the lewd Potter with a smirk. "Did you enjoy the experience?"

The nerdy-looking Potter cringed visibly and attempted to remove his eyeballs with his fingernails.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that," said the authoritative Potter, scowling at the lewd Potter. "No more inappropriate comments, if you will. And you! What do you think you're doing?"

"Ah– nothing–" squawked the nerdy-looking Potter and hid his blood-stained hands behind his back.

"Shev'rus Shnape," slurred the drunk Potter.

"Snivellus," agreed the shifty-looking Potter.

"'E used to take points off me all the time, 'e did," said the gruesome Potter with the scars. "And all I ever did was ruin 'is life. And blow up the dungeons." He sighed theatrically. "Some people don't know 'ow to take a joke, they don't."

"I say," said the authoritative Potter suddenly, while shooting wary glances at the gruseome Potter. "We're running out of time! Does anyone have any other legitimate business they would like to share with the group?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, gov," said the gruesome Potter in a soothing tone. His relaxing smile pulled at the scars at his mouth and gave him a particularly ghastly appearance. "Wouldn't do anything to 'urt you, now would I? You _can_ take a joke, can't you?"

The authoritative Potter coughed hysterically. "Ah– yes– exactly my point– will you look at the time! I simply must be going–" He rushed out the door, not even bothering to collect his cloak and hat from the coatrack.

The gruesomely scarred Potter trailed after him, a sinister grin on his face. "Why so serious, Harry?" was the last thing the remaining Harry Potters heard before the door slammed shut.

"Sucks to be him," said the shifty-looking Potter.

The lewd Potter sniggered uncontrollably.

After a few minutes, the Potter in the Death Eater mask flicked his wand. Loud disco music blared from the ceiling, and sparkling pink and purple lights began to dance on the walls.

"Disco?" snorted the Potter in the black fedora in disgust. "I always knew he was evil."

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END

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End Note: The Harry Potter in the black fedora looked around. This was not his beautiful house... And the ugly older woman peering at him from one corner definitely was not one of his beautiful wives. He slapped his forehead in realization: he'd ended up in the wrong Harry Potter's reality.


End file.
